


Anathema

by carceryvale



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, OFC is not dragonborn, Vampirism, tagged as ship but theres really no romance here, this isnt a smut fic but there are definite elements of femdom, toying with fantasy religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carceryvale/pseuds/carceryvale
Summary: Arch-Curate Vyrthur has secluded himself away from the rest of the Chantry. High Priestess Celebora continues to tend her Arch-Curate, and sees a sliver of salvation for all Snow Elves.





	Anathema

**Author's Note:**

> Anathema: a formal curse by a pope or a council of the church, excommunicating a person or declaring a doctrine.
> 
> I had a vampire snow elf OC before beginning the Dawnguard DLC, this seemed to perfect of a backstory to pass up

"Arch-Curate? Will you not be joining us in prayer today?" High Priestess Celebora bowed in Vrythur's presence out of respect, but their almost equal positions within the Chantry allowed her to question him.

"Yes. I have been feeling awfully under the weather lately." Slivers of hateful sun threatened him everywhere outside of his cavernous room, especially dangerous in the exposed cathedral where he was supposed to be praising the sun god himself, Auri-El. "You may tell the followers this to placate them, for the time being."

"Of course Arch-Curate. And your brother?"

Vyrthur can't help the dark smile that pulls at his face, revealing his pointed teeth. His room is dark enough to cover him in shadow. "Tell him the same."

Celebora nods and leaves. Later Vyrthur can hear her crystalline voice rising above the winds echoes as she starts to lead the Chantry in a prayer to Auri-El. 

His days now are spent either attempting to sleep or researching a cure for his disease and time passes fast. It feels like no time at all has passed when a knock drags him away from his studies. 

"My sisters and brothers report you have not left your room to eat in some time, Arch-Curate." Celebora stands with a meal on a tray before him. These days its rare for him to look someone in the eye, due to both his self-imposed exile and his high position within the Chantry and the breath is almost suckered out of his chest by the High Priestesses confident gaze. Her eyes are a shade of icy blue that gives the impression she's watching him through a glacier like a particularly interesting preserved skeever cadaver.

The food looks good as well, a pity he can't eat it. 

"Thank you, High Priestess." Celebora nods and takes her leave. Vyrthur stills tries to sleep at night, rebelling against his new biology, and it must have worked because morning comes along with Celebora to take his untouched tray of food and replace it with a new one. 

This trend continues for weeks. 

Celebora visits him in the morning to ask about his presence in prayer services, but offers no news about how the other followers are taking his absence. In the evenings she brings food and the next day it is switched out, untouched.

Vyrthur is getting terribly thirsty. 

It is deep in the eveing when Celebora knocks. Vyrthur opens it and nods in acknowledgement. 

"Greetings Arch-Curate. I have brought some supper from the kitchens for you." The same as usual.

"What's this now?" Vyrthur brings a cup up to get a clearer look, but it is almost lost in the dark. "Wine at this late an hour?"

Celebora lets a small smile crack her icy demeanor. "Brand new, from the Summerset Isles. I thought you shoud relax for once, you have been very stressed lately my Curate." Vyrthur is startled by her words but recovers quickly. 

"Well- thank you Priestess. I appreciate your concern." Celebora nods and turns to leave and Vrythur is suddenly overcome with emotion. He wants to invite her into his dwelling and sit her down to explain his horrid existence, expose Auri-El's abandonment of his Arch-Curate and take her into his arms to feel her warmth and beating heart he now lacks, to sink his teeth into her pallid throat- but he doesn't. She leaves and he is alone again.

Vrythur has not eaten regular food since his turning but the glass of wine brought specifically for him calls out in a sickly sweet aroma. He mindlessly takes a sip and is amazed by the flavor bursting across his tongue and more so by the fact his body doesn't immediately reject it. Before he realizes it the glass is drained. The rest of his night is a waste after that as his mind is torn between an almost primal urge to leave his den and search for more of this addictive concoction-certainly not wine- or barricading himself away until whatever it is passes. A path is chosen for him when the door opens. 

"Good evening Arch-Curate." Celebora's icy eyes find him where he lays like a wounded animal on the floor. As he stumbles to his feet she steps into his room and shuts the door behind her. Without the invisible barrier of a doorway between him Vrythur finds himself lost and stumbling for words. 

"Cele- High Priestess Celebora, what are you doing here at this hour?" At his words Celebora looks sad. 

"I needed to make sure." She says mournfully and Vyrthur follows her gaze to the goblet on the floor-thrown away in haste- and then his eyes land on the previously unseen bandage on her arm.

Oh no. He starts shaking uncontrollably, bringing a hand to cover his mouth. "Cele-Celebora, why would you-" She cuts him off by grabbing his wrist and when he looks into her normally icy eyes he sees them blazing with passion.

"Auri-El has abandoned you. But not all hope is lost. This is a gift, do you not see?"

Vyrthur laughs humourlessly. "A gift? How?" Celebora tigtens her grip in reponse, nails biting into his cold, dead flesh.

"Our race is dying Vyrthur. We are among the precious few hundreds that remain." Her grip tightens. "And you have been gifted immortality. You can carry the memory of us on for thousands of years." 

"And why should I?" Vyrthur growls. "I never wanted this! If Auri-El wanted a savior why would he turn his back on one of his own?"

Celebora's eyes are dangerously clear, something dark swimming just below the surface of her frozen-over eyes. "Perhaps you are just a conduit."

Suddenly her nails turn wickedly into his flesh and he starts to attack on instinct, lips curling to curse. He doesn't expect her to throw her wrist into his face, aiming for his mouth. A quick jab upwards and her aim proves true. Iron, salt, and pure blood pours into his mouth and he falls to his knees. He's so thirsty. He stares up at the cold and unfeeing being above him until she decides he's had his fill. A quick paralyze spell shot directly to his forehead leaves him on the floor, torn between crying and screaming. 

The next morning she is gone. The pledge at his door informs him that she left late last night, claiming her purpose fulfilled. Vyrthur locks his door for good.


End file.
